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He knew his voice sounded cold and distant and also knew it was necessary. If he was to get her to tell him what was troubling her, he would need to become her Dominant and not just her lover.
“Viktor, have I done something wrong?” she asked, her voice so vulnerable his heart ached for her.
He steeled himself against wanting to comfort her. Comforting would come after he had gotten what he wanted—her complete honesty and her trust. Before the night was done, he would have both or he would have nothing at all.
“No, Emerson. Go get dressed. I’ll have someone waiting to bring you to me.”
She might have said something more, but he turned on his heel and went to change into his leathers. Once he was changed, he strode onto the main stage of the club, ensuring the St. Andrew’s cross had been wiped down and laying out his own kit, including shaking out the six-foot single tail whip. He considered using a flogger, but decided he would get her where she needed to be—where she would tell him what he needed to know—more quickly with the whip. What most people didn’t understand was that a whip master like Viktor could inflict enough sensual sting to leave the recipient relatively unharmed, but willing to do whatever her master wanted. Was it fair? No. Would it be effective? He prayed he was right.
She was led into the room by one of the other Doms. She hesitated, but then swallowed her fear and stepped forward, taking his hand as he extended it to help her up onto the stage. Without another word he led her to the cross and positioned her so she was facing it, binding each of her wrists to the upper axis and spreading her legs to bind her ankles to the lower ones.
He flicked the switchblade he kept with his kit, letting her hear the click and see the blade before he cut the sides of her thong, letting it fall to the floor.
“Viktor?” she whispered.
“I will replace it. Not another word unless I ask you something, or you need to use your safeword.”
A look of hurt and then stubborn resolution flashed in her eyes, and she only nodded. He used the knife to cut through the lacings and remove her corset, placing it on the table next to his kit, leaving her naked before the admiring crowd. He ran his hand down her spine, watching as it quivered beneath his touch.
Viktor picked up his whip, its weight reassuring in his hand. He spun it through the air, a soft hiss escaping from the tip. The audience gasped in unison, a chorus of surprised whispers filling the air.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?” he asked again, his voice low and rumbling like thunder.
Emerson swallowed hard but remained silent. Small beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Her body trembled with anticipation of what was to come.
“No,” she whispered.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Viktor raised the whip, whirled it around and cracked it overhead. The music stopped, the lights dimmed, and the first strike came down across her back. There was no way she could have anticipated the sting that the single tail’s kiss would give. She gasped, sucking in her breath. The pain should have been sharp and sudden, but it shouldn’t be unbearable. Viktor was a master of the single tail. He reminded himself it was what she’d agreed to, and he needed to break her down, leave her feeling exposed and vulnerable so he could remedy whatever it was that had her strung as taut as a bow string.
Viktor continued, strike after strike, each one more precise and powerful than the last. He could see her muscles tensing, the pulse beating in her throat and knew her heart had to be pounding in her chest. As the whip continued to dance across her back, each strike bringing with it a mix of pain and pleasure, he could sense the shifting energy of the crowd. They were captivated by the scene, hungry to witness something raw and dangerous. Viktor knew he was giving them just that, but his focus was on Emerson and breaking through the ice wall within which she had chosen to retreat.
The whip moved with a grace and precision that was graceful, beautiful. He watched closely as her body responded to each strike, her skin quivering and her muscles growing tense. She was a rare beauty, and he was determined to have her—not just for tonight, not just for the duration of the contract, but forever. She was his, and after tonight she would have no reason to doubt that. The energy of the audience was electrifying. He could feel their eyes riveted to the scene before them, their collective breath held as they watched the scene unfold.
“You’re doing very well, Emerson,” he breathed into her ear when he paused for a moment, his hands coming around to cup her breasts, to tease her nipples as the crowd looked on in respectful silence, “You have beautiful nipples, by the way.”
He moved away before she could respond, his fingers leaving her nipples aching for more.
The whip resumed its dance through the air, landing on her ass, slicing a new layer of burning, pleasurable pain across it. He could sense both in the way her body responded and the way he could smell her arousal that the need in her was building with each strike. He knew he was pushing her limits, but he would need to do so in order to break her down so he could build her back up.
Viktor continued to use the whip in rhythmic strikes, his movements fluid and precise, never missing a spot. Her body responded as her breath became shallower. She was falling completely under the spell of the whip, under his control, at his mercy, and it was the most exhilarating feeling he had ever experienced.
He paused again, tracing his fingers over the rising welts on her skin. He moved back to her front and slid his hand down to cup her mound before letting his fingers slide directly over her clit. Emerson moaned and shoved her hips forward, trying to increase the pressure, but the cross held her in place, and she could only go so far.
Viktor chuckled. “I knew you’d love the whip, but had I known you’d love it this much, we would have done this sooner. I think with a little time, I’ll actually be able to bring you to orgasm with just the whip alone. You’re so wet for me, Emerson. You’re absolutely soaked.”
He brought his middle finger up to lick it clean, smirking at her when her mouth fell open in disbelief that he had done so with a crowd watching. “Later it will be more than my finger that fills you up.”
Her eyes raced up from the finger he’d stuck back between his lips and to his eyes, while her mouth watered instantly. Viktor moved away and back toward the table where he’d placed his tools. Looking it over, he held up two objects for the crowd to see—some cheered and some jeered.
He came back and held them up before her eyes—two small devices that would apply suction and pressure to her nipples. He placed them over her stiffened tips and then used a small button on each side turning them on. New waves of pleasure raced through her abdomen and straight to her brain. The devices were designed to vibrate and suck at her nipples with such exquisite suction that her knees nearly buckled.
She looked up at him, doubt filling her face. Viktor leaned across, pressing his lips to hers until desire burned away her fear. His tongue slid between her lips, hot and slick, and she groaned into his mouth. He lifted his mouth from her and gazed into her eyes. Emerson nodded.
“Good girl,” Viktor whispered against her lips, before stepping away to retrieve the crop. The audience had fallen silent, their eyes glued to the participants on the stage as Viktor showed off a red crop.
Viktor approached her, the crop held high above his head. With a swift motion, he brought it down across her already striped backside. He knew the pain would be intense, but it would also be mixed with an exquisite pleasure that would ripple through her.
As a true master of his craft, his every move was calculated and precise. As each strike landed, he could see as she felt the impact resonate through her entire body, a mix of pain and pleasure that was almost too much to bear.
